The Boy in the Picture
by Mizuni-no-neko
Summary: Ivan Braginski, a succesful Russia business man, moves to America to escape the tomb of a house he left behind only to be visted by a mysterious boy in his dreams. He becomes obssessed and infatuated with him. RusAme, AU, ghosts.
1. Chapter 1

Ivan Braginski sheilded his eyes against the midday Louisiana sun as he stepped out of the car that had brought him here. When he'd been whisked away from the airport directly after landing in the airconditioned limo with tinted windows, he had taken for granted exactly how disconcertingly hot and sunny it was here. For a man used to the cold winds of the North and months on end where the only sun that managed to break through the clouds was weak and pale, it was like stepping into Hell itself.

But he was here for just that reason. He was sick and tired of the cold weather and snow in Russia. When he was a child he had dreamed of one thing and one thing only, living in a place that was warm enough to grow sunflowers. And, while the climate in Louisiana grew more than just sunflowers, he finally had what he wanted. He was free of the snow, the cold, the long winter nights with nothing but vodka to warm him.

He was still as alone as he had been in Russia. Moreso, since he hadn't brought any of his servants with him. They'd all been left to care for his mentally ill sister Natalia, who was much too fragile to move to America with him. But he'd been alone for a long time, he could stand it.

There was a time once, when being apart from his younger sister would have been out of the question and would have hurt him deeply. But now it was like leaving a sock: Regretable, but nothing you really agonized over. The thought of his derranged sister as a discarded sock brings on a quiet chuckle as he sweeps violet eyes over the sprawling grounds and elegant plantation house he'd recently purchased and would now be living in.

He strolled lazily up the driveway and onto the porch. The heavy heat was effecting him too. He could understand now why the locals were so laid back. The peaceful quiet of the country side and lazy heat of the afternoons made all your cares seem to melt away. It would be good for him, he concluded. And maybe Natalia would one day be well enough to come here with him and it could be good for her, too.

But when he entered the house it was like being transported to another dimension, or at least another place entirely. The house was at least 20 degrees cooler, and not in an airconditioned way. The air was thick and heavy and, whether it was the half-drawn curtains or the dust on the windows, very little light seemed to pierce the gloom. It was the same stale, dead feeling he had left Russia to escape.

No, he told himself. You came here to get away from the cold. He was perfectly capable of being alone in a large house despite the feel of the atmosphere. He squared his shoulders and strode through the house, more purposefully than before. There was just something about this place that seemed to make the laziness of the summer heat dissipate and set one's nerves on edge. Like something was watching you.

The feeling was all too familiar. And the memories came back, unbidden, with every step he took. Yekaterina, Natalia, and himself before the accident. They had been as happy as they could be as orphans, even before Ivan had become a succesful and rich business man who could provide easily for the three of them. Even when they'd all been working to put him through college it had been all laughter and smiles and love.

He touched the scarf around his neck, a momento of that time. He could still hear his sister laughing as she wrapped it around his neck. _"Now you have no excuse not to go to class in the winter, Vanya. This will keep you warm while you walk."_ She had teased, referencing his mock complaints that it was too cold and that he would freeze to death before ever making it to his classes. He had made a habit of wearing it even in the house, just because it made Katyusha smile. Natalia had been so jealous, saying that delivering flowers was just as cold as walking to class. Ivan and Katyusha had laughed and kissed each of her cheeks, surprising her the next week on her birthday with a purple ribbon to keep her hair back while she ran through the streets on her deliveries. She hadn't complained about the scarf even once after that.

These memories should make him happy, bring a soft smile to his face like they had so many times before. But he couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled sincerely. It was probably well before the accident that had taken away all the smiles and laughter left in that big house he'd purchased so his sisters and he would have enough space to grow and laugh and love. It was ironic, really, how the house that had been meant to make room for their love had only come to serve as a tomb.

It had been three years ago, give or take, that it had happened. Ivan had finally become successful enough to move them out of the tiny two bedroom apartment they'd shared for who knew how many years. It had been an acheivement worth celebrating, so they had all gone out to dinner. Like any time the three siblings were together, the night was full of laughter and jokes and funny stories from when they were children. One time, a waiter was even sent over to respectfully tell them to be a bit more quiet. They had complied, but once the waiter was out of hearing distance, they had giggles silently to themselves.

The night had progressed and the three had still not run out of things to talk about. They rarely did, they were so close. They had mutually agreed to move it back home, the first time they would be there together and the first time his sisters would see it at all. They grabbed a taxi and gave the driver the address. But just as they were about to climb in, Katyusha remembered that she'd forgotten her purse inside. "_I'll just be a second, I promise."_

But just seconds before she'd gone back to get her purse, a man with a gun had slipped into the restaurant while their back were turned. She had walked straight into the shooting, catching a stray bullet straight to the heart. She had been dead before the police had even arrived.

The rest of the night had been spent answering questions, identifying the body, and making arrangements for the burial. By the time he an Natalia had gotten back to their new home, they were too tired and shell shocked to really appreciate the significance. Without Katyusha there it wasn't really the same, anyway.

They had buried the body quickly, both too out of it to truly mourn. And in a way, they still were. Natalia still acted as if nothing were wrong and Katyusha had never really been there. The doctors told him that she had shut the entire thing out to keep from shutting down herself. And Ivan...Ivan drank. Not enough to effect his work and never in a million years enough to abuse his sister. But it took the edge off the pain of knowing one sister was gone and the other was slowly slipping away into her own world.

It hadn't been obvious, when it had first started. In the days after Katyusha's death he had expected her to act differently, clinging to him for support. But as they days passed into weeks and even into months nothing had changed and it was all beginning to get a little bit stranger than mere grief.

At first it had been her forgetfulness about anything related to Katyusha. He would remind her that they were going to put flowers on teh grave and she would look at him as if she had no clue what he was talking about. He passed it off, telling himself she was just scattered. But ithad only gotten worse. More and more details about their dead sister slipped her mind and she became more and more attached to him.

One day it all became clear. Like a gunshot he realised that his sister wasn't just scattered, she was sick.

He had been standing at the fireplace in their home, where they had been living for almost a year at the time. He was looking at a picture on the mantlepiece of the three of them together, back when they were happy.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by his younger sister closing the door as she entered the room. He turned around to face her, giving her a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. She returned it with a perfect mirror smile of his own.

"Who is the woman in the picture, brother? You look at her with such sadness." She had asked, tilting her head to the side as if she really did not recognize the sister who had bandages countless wounds and kissed away more tears than could fill the sea.

"Natalia, that is our older sister Yekaterina, surely you remember her? She has only been gone a year!" He had stared at her, fear slowly creeping into the back of his mind that she was serious and could not remember Katyusha.

"She left? How sad." She did sound mournful, but only in a detached, sympathetic way. "You know I will never leave you, brother." And she had embraced him. But something about the way she held onto him kept him from hugging back. There was something wrong. Before he could open his mouth to tell her that yes, he knew she would never leave, the reason behind the feeling of wrongness became all too apparent.

"We should be married, brother. Then we would never be parted." There was a hysterical note that rang through the statement, despite how calm it was. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her away gently.

"Natalia, youa re my sister and I do not love you in that way. And you do not love me in that way! It is wrong!" He told her, looking into her eyes for any spark of understanding. There was none.

"I love you, brother. I will always love you and will never leave you." Why did those words strike such fear into his heart? Especially from a sister he had once loved so dearly.

He shook the thoughts from his head. Natalia was back home in Russia where she belonged. She was being cared for by a staff of servants who was quite used to her behavior and knew how to deal with her, along with the best doctors who were experts in cases like hers. They would help her and one day they might even be able to laugh together as they once did.

Somehow during these trips into the past he had made his way up the stairs to the empty master bedroom. It was elegantly furnished with a fourposter bed with red velvet curtains and white walls. If any light had been able to invade the room it would have been light and airy. As it were, the air hung as stale and opressing as anywhere else in the house.

Ivan sighed and sat down on the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. Drawing a bottle of vodka out of the inside pocket of a coat he doubted he would need much longer, he started his nightly ritual of drinking until he passed out. He could only hope that tonight would be one of those rare nights that when he dreamed, he dreamed of a field of sunflowers under a bright blue sky.


	2. Chapter 2

So I'm back with another chapter! I've pretty much got it figured out where this is going, and hopefully I'll be able to articulate my thoughts well enough to get my point across. I don't often get my thoughts untangled enough to get them into any semblance of a cohearant story, but I like to think that when I do it's semi-readable xD.

Alfred finally shows up! (sort of) Enjoy!

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_Ivan stares up at blue sky, as vast and endless as the ocean. How long he's been here, staring up at the same patch of sky and lying in the same patch of grass, he does not know. Perhaps he was born here, except he doesn't remember being born. Perhaps he just appeared here by chance long ago when the world was new and has been here ever since, staring up at his patch of sky and lying in his patch of grass._

_He decides that it is high time to go against the norm, and hauls himself up out of the grass. Looking around, he's glad he did. Vast, rolling hills stretch out into the distance, a copse of trees situated nearby. The sky looks even more strikingly blue against the landscape and it reminds him of something he can't quite place. Whatever it is, he knows he has to find it. So after a quick stretch to ease his unused muscles into activity, he sets off towards the horizon and over a hill._

_The sight that greets him there is probably one of the most beautiful he's ever seen. A field full of nothing but sunflowers stretching as far into the distance as he can see in all directions. And in the dead center, someone standing. Without knowing why, he's pulled towards the figure, wading through the tall flowers that bring him so much joy just to see them._

_As he draws closer, he realizes that the figure is a boy. About 19 or so with blonde hair. His back is to the Russian, seeming not to notice him. Ivan stood patiently, not wanting to interrupt whatever the boy was thinking about. When the blonde finally turned toward him with a gentle smile on his face, Ivan was floored. The color of his eyes...it was the same as the sky he'd just been staring up at. Deep and striking, they pulled him in._

_He was so caught up into staring into the boy's eyes that he almost missed the fact that he was mouthing something Ivan couldn't hear. It was odd, he should have been close enough to hear him. It wasn't until that moment that he realised that there was no sound at all. The world was utterly silent. He tried to speak, to tell the boy that he couldn't hear him. But no sound came out of his mouth, either._

_He stepped closer to the boy, trying to read his lips. But as soon as he did the world faded to darkness and he was all alone in the abyss. He tried to call out, but the silence still pervaded his senses. There was nothing. No sound, no light, he was all alone. His heart began to race and panic set in. He didn't want to be alone! He cried out for Natalia, for Katyusha, even for the blonde boy who had vanished. But no one came to save him, no one was there when he began to shake, no one was there to dry the panicked tears._

_He was all alone._

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Ivan woke up in a cold sweat, breathing harsh and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He looked around, not recognizing the room at first. He wondered if he had gotten a hotel instead of going home to deal with Natalia trying to crawl into bed with him, something he would not have minded before, but frowned upon now that she thought she was in love with him.

He shook his head to clear it as he realized that he was not in Russia at all, but in the home he had purchased in Louisiana. He was in America and far from his sister and her advances. He tried to recall the dream and what about it had made him wake up feeling like he was going to have a heart attack. But all he could remember was golden petals and a flash of eye as blue as the sky. Other than that everything was completely fuzzy.

He shrugged it off and continued with his day. He had a meeting with the painters later concerning the chipping paint on the house.

By the time the day was done and Ivan had crawled into bed, he was much too tired to even drink himself into a stupor. He had forgotten how easy it was to forget all the misfortunes of the past when the concerns of the present were pressing at you.

The meeting with the painters had not gone well. They had insisted that the paint he wished to use was an unwise choice. They had wanted to use a different shade, to ease the burden of wear and tear it would endure over the years. Ivan had told them the shade was ugly and that as long as he was the one paying the bill, he would choose the color. It had not made them happy, to say the least. In the end they had compromised and picked a color that Ivan found suitable aesthetically and the painters agreed would look good for many years to come.

Not once the whole day had he thought of either of his sisters or the mysterious dream he'd had the night before. And as he got comfortable on the bed and let his mind drift off, his thoughts were free and light in a way they hadn't been in a long time. Perhaps buying this house and moving to America would do him more good than he thought, despite the overall oppressive nature of the house.

But as soon as he drifted off, the dream sequence started over again.

Ivan was back again, laying in the grass and staring up at the bright blue sky. It all seemed so familiar, as if this was the way he passed his days. It wouldn't be a bad way to spend his time, he thinks casually. He would just lay in the grass, staring up at the sky and being warmed by the sun. It would be such a carefree existence. But he knows that there is more for him to do in this world than sit and stare at clouds.

So he gets up, stretching and setting off for the hills. His feet trace the same path they did last night, over the hill and through the valley of sunflowers. The bright yellow petals still bring a smile to his face, but more intriguing is the boy in the midst of them all. He is not unlike a sunflower, himself. Tall, though not as tall as Ivan, golden bright like a miniature sun. He, too, brings a smile to Ivan's face. So much like a sunflower.

The boy turns to him almost immediately this time, smiling that gentle smile of his and mouthing the same words he did last night. This time, Ivan doesn't try to move closer. At least not at first. He just basks in the company, staring up at the sky and around at the sunflowers. But most of all he stares at the boy. It's not long before Ivan finds himself drawing closer and the edges of his vision start to go black. Before he can retreat the peaceful scene is gone, replaced once more by pitch black darkness. He is left alone with the silence and the loneliness...and the beeping

Ivan groans as his alarm clock goes off, hitting the snooze button and rolling over in the bed to bury his face in the pillow. He doesn't want to get up yet, but he knows he must. But in the back of his mind, he is still thinking about golden hair as bright as the petals of a sunflower and blue eyes as vast as the sky.

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Not sure if this was what I originally intended for it, but I like it. Could stand to be a little longer, but I'm not sure how to do that in this chapter without either combining it with the next or making an infinite number of dream sequences. Also, updates will always be posted to LJ first, then here when I finally get around to it.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay! So here's the next chapter of the boy in the picture. Not much plot action going on here, but then again this isn't really that much of a driving plot until a few more chapters in. But bear with me! There is a reason for the slow build up!

More Ivan/Alfred interactions! How fun!

Enjoy!

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Ivan sat in the library, enshrouded in the darkness that seemed to pervade the mansion like an aura. But he did not mind. His thoughts were as heavy and dark as the atmosphere. He held the bottle of vodka in his hand up to his face and swirled the contents around, watching the clear liquid slosh around the bottle with a look of deep concentration lining his face. He looks as if he hasn't slept the past few nights, even though every evening he goes to sleep early and sleeps until morning.

But the sleep is never good nor refreshing. Every night without fail, as soon as he falls asleep, he has the dream. The boy with the mesmerising eyes in a field of sunflowers. This part he would not mind so much if it wasn't for the fact that every time he tried to get closer to him to find out what it was he was saying, the world would turn to black and he would wake up shaking, sweaty, and feeling as if he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. Needless to say, this was not a pleasant way to start the day.

His sleeplessness had begun to manifest itself in his temper. Ivan had never had a very long fuse, but when he was running on little sleep and a lot of vodka, his temper flares became more frequent and sometimes bordered on dangerous. He'd had several incidents where builders would come to talk to him about modifications to the building that had ended in disaster. One memorable encounter had been with an overweight plummer who had told him that nearly all the pipes in the house were rusting and would all need to be replaced. He had blown up at the man, accusing him of lying to get more money. The man had shouted back, telling him that he wouldn't take the blame when his water was tainted or his pipes busted and flooded the place. Ivan had seen red and before he knew what he had done, the plummer was on the ground, nursing a broken nose.

He would have to make a formal apology later, and probably call in another plummer. As it was, the man had been right. The pipes were, indeed, all rusting. He had tried to run the water in the bathroom earlier and it had a reddish tint to it that couldn't possibly be good for his health. Lord only knows what could happen if he tried drinking it. Yet another problem to put on the pile of shit that was building up because he bought this damn house. He almost regretted moving from Russia. Almost. Because a broken down plantation house in Louisiana that gave him nightmares was still preferable to keeping his sister company.

The boy...Somehow it all revolved around the boy, he knew it. The rational part of his mind told him that the boy didn't exist. He was a figment of Ivan's imagination and existed only in his dreams. But every bone in his body was screaming at him that he was wrong. The boy did exist and he was somehow tied to everything. Somewhere in this house was proof that the boy had lived. Had, because Ivan was sure the boy was dead. Why else would he appear to him in his dreams?

He took a swig of his vodka and stared into the fireplace. It shouldn't have been necessary to light a fire at all in Louisiana in July, but the house was an ice box most of the time. That was a sign of a haunting, wasn't it? Temperature drops? He had read somewhere that patches of cold could indicate that a spirit was on the loose in a house. But this wasn't so much a patch of cold as it was an entire climate encompassing the house. Did that mean that the spirit was stronger or that there were many of them? Or did it not mean anything and Ivan was just over-analyzing things?

Regardless, Ivan had to get to the bottom of this. He absolutely had to know who this boy was and what sort of importance he held. That's why he was in the library so early in the morning in the first place rather than going to sleep and dreaming once again of the boy and the darkness. He had been scouring all the records the library had to offer, trying to find any mention of a blonde boy around 19. So far he'd found absolutely nothing and was left to ponder whether or not he really had made it all up.

He rose from his chair, determined to find some small scrap of evidence that he wasn't losing his mind. He would find that boy if it was literally the last thing he ever did on this earth. He practically snatched a record book off the shelf, thumbing through it rapidly. Most of it was records of the shipments of cotton and tobacco that the plantation had shipped out over the years, or slaves that had been bought and sold. There were very few mentions of the white owners, and even fewer mentions of any children or white servants they may have had. And for all he knew, the boy hadn't even lived here. He could have been a boy from the surrounding area who died here or something to that effect.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes started to cross. He was exhausted, both from the sleepless night and the fact that it was 3 in the morning and he had been up reading through these damned records all night. But he couldn't give up, not yet. He scanned through another record book, eyes hard and fully absorbed in the information. Dammit, no mention of a blonde boy around his age. Another useless record. He tossed it on top of the pile and reached for another. He had to find out who that boy was!

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Sunrise found him still scanning through the files and records in the library. He was sure that he was so close to what he was looking for. But every paper shuffled through left him disappointed again. The boy just wasn't in the plantation records! He could name off whole families of the slaves the original owner had bought and sold on the premesis, but there was not one goddamn mention of the boy from his dreams. This was absurd! He knew the answer was here somewhere, it had to be. _He was not crazy!_

Noon found him looking through the old family Bible that had been stashed somewhere near the back of the library. Now he would find something, he was sure of it! Birth and death dates, all recorded from generation to generation. His smile may have been a bit too wide and desperate as he opened the Bible, but he didn't care two bits. He would finally have his proof. He flipped to the front of the book, looking for dates and found...

Nothing?

He was floored. The room was spinning and black was closing in on the edges of his vision. He had been so close, _so_ close to finding out the truth and all he had was a useless book with the page torn out. It had probably been taken out years ago by someone who'd tracked their geneology to the plantation or by some theif, vandal, or historical society. He tossed the book away in disgust. Without that page the book was useless to him.

So many hours of sleep lost, his chance to see the boy again. Both had been lost on this wild goose chase. It was too late for him to sleep now, much too late. He had a meeting with the electrician in an hour to look over the wiring and after that he'd promised dinner to a business associate who was in town for the weekend. By the time he would be able to sleep it would already be night time. He rubbed at his tired eyes, sweeping into the kitchen to hopefully down enough coffee to get him through the day.

On a reflex, he popped back into the library and grabbed the remaining record book. It would hurt to go through the thing when he had a bit of downtime. Afterall, he needed something to keep him awake during the long stretches of time between meetings and meals. It wasn't obsessive to want something to read to keep him occupied. And he could have easily brought any other book. This one just happened to be the first one he grabbed. With that personal reassurance he slipped the book into his briefcase and left to meet up with the electricians.

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_Once again Ivan finds himself lying in the grass, staring up at the sky. He is really starting to grow weary of the same dream over and over again. He wonders idly what would happen if he were to stay here until he wakes up. If he never moved from this spot, never went to the boy in holding court in his palace of sunflowers. But the second he thinks of the boy and those enchanting blue eyes he knows he has to get up and go to him. He is pulling at him like he has him attached to a string, beckoning him forward._

So he complies, unable to do much more. He foregoes the usual pre-walk stretch that had become part of his nightly routine in this dream world. Somehow he feels that it isn't necessary this time, not that he had technically needed to stretch the times before. In a dream, do your muscles even grow tired? He doesn't think so. He heds over the hill, more weary than anything. Even the anticipation is tempered with a deep tiredness that he can't describe. It isn't so much a tiredness of the mind or body, but one of the soul.

He stands just short of the invisible line between him and the boy, waiting for the other to realise he was there. He'd always thought that the boy knew he was there even before he opened his eyes to see the blue sky and merely acts as if he isn't there out of some sense of mischeif. But the youth inevitable turns around, hitting him once more with that gentle smile and the piercing eyes. His lips move, mouthing words Ivan can still not hear.

He stays there for awhile. It is nice, just standing there with the boy, keeping him company. He finds that the longer he can put off his curiosity and not try to get closer to the boy or understand what he is trying to say, the longer he can stay here with the golden-haired young man. And he does not mind that so much. He thinks that if he can get just one night with the boy where his world did not fade to black he would wak up refreshed and ready for the morning.

But, just as inevitably as his trek to the field or the boy acknowledging his presence, he reaches out towards the boy with a deep yearning he can't place. His vision starts to go black again and he knows he won't be here very much longer. But this time he is bound and determined to get to the truth. So he reaches out, nearly blond now, and manages to grasp something. The boys hand.

The warmth of it shocks him, it's as warm as a patch of summer sunlight and rough from working. He looks up into the boy's eyes and something clenches in his heart as the world turns...

white.

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Ivan woke up the next morning groggy but well rested. He could feel a hand in his and he went to squeeze it, smiling because he knew it was his beautiful blonde...

But his hand only closed on empty air.

He brought the offending mandible up to his face and wiggled the fingers. He could still feel the ghost of the boys touch, though not as strongly as when he had first awoke. He colored as he realised that he had thought the boy was in his bed. Was he so lonely that he would imagine waking up next to a ghost? He wouldn't deny that the boy was beautiful, hauntingly so. But that did not change the fact that he was both dead, and a part of his dreams.

He shook his head to clear it and ran a hand through his hair. This was going to be a long day.

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Well there you go, latest chapter! It took me way longer than i would have liked because I kept getting distracted and it's rather harder to write for one character with hardly any interactions with other characters than it is to write for two or more people. The lack of dialouge severely cripples me. Especially since the character is Russia and I'm like...totally an America kind of person : I hope he doesn't come off as too OOC because of that!

But obviously, this is a good thing because it means that I get to practice things that I don't usually get to practice and get out of my comfort zone as a writer a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

Woohoo! Longest chapter yet! A bit more happens in this one, so keep your eyes peeled~ Ohoho~ I've been loving all of your comments, since I wasn't exactly sure how well this AU would go over with people when I first posted it, as well as the theme. But you guys have really seemed to warm up well to it and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

I don't think I've done this well on keeping a fairly regular updating schedule for a chapter fic in a long time. Definitely not for four whole chapters!

As always, enjoy!

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Ivan was at his wit's end, he really was. He has scoured every inch of the library looking for some record of a boy even fitting the age of the one in his dreams, let alone the description. Any white male associated with the plantation between the ages of 17 and 22 had been recorded in a separate notebook in blocky print while he was waiting for the electricians to finish up their assessment of the house so that he could look over them later.

Then he'd met up with his business associate, Toris. He was a quiet, nervous man who seemed incompetent at first glance. But after getting around the stuttering and nerves he was quite good at what he did. Toris had been close to the Braginski sibling before the accident, especially to Natalia. The two had been in the beginning stages of a mutual crush and it had been adorable to watch. Katyusha and he had teased Natalia about it too many times to count on days when Toris would come over, finally going home after hours of shy almost-flirting with the youngest Braginski.

Of course, after Katyusha's death, nothing had been the same. Toris had left on business about a week before the shooting and hadn't been able to make it back for three weeks after. By the time he had come back, Natalia had been cold and distant. She was so unlike the sweet, shy girl he had begun to fall in love with. But Toris was nothing if not persistent when it came to love. He would show up nearly every day, trying to reignite the spark that had died in Natalia's heart during his absence.

It wasn't until Ivan had informed him of his sister's illness that his visits had diminished. He never truly gave up hope, still coming around the house from time to time, trying to coax even something as simple as a smile out of her. He never succeeded, but he never gave up. Ivan wondered idly if he still visited his sister in that dark, lonely house that was haunted by so many memories. He probably did, he decided. If Natalia had any company at all outside of the servants paid to take care of her, it would be Toris.

They had parted ways after a casual dinner and a bit of small talk, both pointedly avoiding any conversation to do with Ivan's sisters. It had been pleasant, if shallow conversation. But that's the way Ivan preferred it. Even before the incident, he had not been particularly close to the Lithuanian man. He didn't seem the right person to confide in about issues like this. Katyusha had always been the one to hold him close when the world was breaking down around him, but she was gone.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the memories away. He loosened the knot on his tie as he sank into one of the plush chairs of the library. This was the first time since he'd scribbled the notes down that he would be able to look over them. He scoured the pages, hoping that something would jump out at him. One of the names or their occupations that would just scream 'X marks the spot'.

But nothing was out of the ordinary. They were just names on a page that held no meaning to him. These were all just the names of faceless people who'd lived and died long before he was even a twinkle in his father's eye. No matter how hard he stared at the words, there was nothing there. He might as well be looking at a list of completely random names. And the longer he stared at the page, the more he lost hope. A wave of despondency washed over him at his failure. This boy needed him and he had failed.

But he couldn't give up hope, not just yet. He stood up from the chair and strode purposefully over to the phone, digging an address book out of his briefcase and flipping through the pages until he found what he needed. Dialing the number, he waited impatiently for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Hello?" The answer finally came and it was like a godsend.

"Yes, my name is Ivan Braginski. I recently purchased property from you and I have a few questions. Would you like to schedule a meeting?"

He took down the address and promised to be there on time before hanging up the phone and crawling into bed.

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_Ivan frowned as he found himself once more on his back in the grass. Really? He had to go through this again? What would it be this time, waking up screaming because he'd been left in a black abyss, or waking up thinking the blonde was with him only to have that dull ache in his chest come back because he wasn't there? Either option left him feeling empty and ragged. He wondered idly if it was better to dream this dream night after night, or not get any sleep at all._

_He hauled himself up off the ground, anyway, stretching and glaring in the direction of the field of sunflowers. He knew from experience that trying to stay here would only fail in the end, but he really didn't want to make the nightly trek to the boy. It felt almost like avoiding a lover who you were annoyed at out of spite. Ivan brushed the thought away and stuffed his hands into his pockets, grumbling to himself in his native tongue as he started out. As usual, it didn't take long before he was standing just before the invisible line separating him from the ghost._

_The boy turned around almost instantly this time, the warm smile almost enough to melt away the annoyance at having to dream about him again. Accusing violet eyes bored into him, but the boy just kept smiling. Ivan tried so hard to stay mad at him, but with a sigh he let the glare relax into a weary look of resignment. And before he knew it that, too, had been replaced with a complacent kind of happiness. The corners of his lips twitched upward a bit as the boy mouthed his nightly phrase at him, as if still expecting him to hear it even after all the nights spent saying it over and over._

_What he would give to be able to hear what he was saying. He wondered what his voice sounded like. A dark, depraved part of him even wondered what he would sound like screaming his name. He licked his lips and looked away from the blonde, swallowing thickly. Now was not the time to be thinking those kinds of things. And about a ghost, at that! He kept his eyes cast downwards for moments that seemed to go on for an eternity before looking back up at the now slightly confused boy. So he could do other things besides smile an talk, huh? The dark part of him that he had just worked to squash down rose back up, wondering what other faces he could make. Images flashes in front of his eyes in flashes before the picture settled back to the normal landscape of the boy, the flowers, and those horribly blue eyes._

_His whole conscious screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't help but take a step forward. He advanced towards the boy, not quite thinking about what he was doing. Maybe he expected the dream to fade to black before he could even reach the boy, or for the world to explode in a flash of white as soon as he did. But neither of these things happened and it was like fireworks when he grabbed his hand. It was warm and smaller than his own, but with callouses on the palms and fingertips. The boy looked up at him, head tilting to the side in a curious manner. Ivan just smiled at him and leaned down, pressing his lips to the smaller man's. Because for all that he had been calling him a boy, he was certainly not a child._

_Maybe because it was a dream, maybe because it was what he wanted, but the younger man leaned into the kiss, returning it with sweet, soft lips moulded to his own. A hand reached up to tangle in golden hair and an arm snaked around a trim waist. Bodies pressed flush together, Ivan should be able to feel the blonde's heartbeat. But he can't, of course he can't. The boy might have been dead for a hundred years or more for all he knew._

_Not sensing a fight, Ivan moved to deepen the kiss. He was let in at the first swipe of his tongue across slightly kiss-swollen lips. If he had thought that the boy's lips were sweet, then the hot, moist cavern he was plundering with his tongue must be made of pure sugar. He could imagine the boy practically mainlining the stuff when he was alive._

_Alive..._

_Oh shit, he was kissing a ghost! He pulled back like someone had slapped him, staring at the blonde in utter mortification. The boy, for his part, only seemed confused and a little disappointed that the kissing had stopped. And, God, was it hard not to kiss him again. Puffed up red lips, blue eyes slightly hazed over, glasses just a hair askew. He was practically begging to be kissed again. In fact, he leaned in and Ivan thought he was going to do just that. But at the last second he stopped, looking into his eyes with a mischievous glint in his own. He mouthed the words that Ivan had tried to read so many times before, but with their newfound closeness he was finding it much easier to trace every movement of the boy's Cupid's bow mouth._

_"The name's Alfred."_

_The boy, Alfred apparently, kissed him again and the world exploded into a thousand milti-colored sparks._

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Ivan didn't wake for a few more hours after that, sleeping dreamlessly through the rest of the night. When he woke up he felt more refreshed than he had since buying the house and didn't' even have to contend with the crushing disappointment of thinking the boy, Alfred, was there with him. The fact that he only didn't expect him to be there because he knew he was dead was counterbalanced by the joy of finally knowing his name. So now when he met with the previous owner he would have at least something to go on.

Speaking of something to go on, he should probably make a pot of coffee and check for Alfred's name in the notes he'd taken down the other day. He drug himself out of bed and into the kitchen with copious amount of yawning and a few stretches. Putting the coffee on, he stumbled into the library to snatch up the notes and tumble into an arm chair.

Violet eyes scanned the notes, thankful that Alfred hadn't been a particularly common name even back then. If he was going to find any Alfreds at all, there was a good chance it would be his Alfred. His Alfred...it was a nice thought. Nicer than it should be, in fact. Ivan warned himself against getting too close to someone who was dead. He had enough dysfuctionin his life without being in love with a corpse.

He reached the end of the page and growled low in his throat. Still nothing! There was not a single Alfred mentioned on this whole goddamned plantation! But he had to be here, he just knew he had to be. Somewhere on this property a blonde boy named Alfred had lived and died and for some reason wanted Ivan to know it.

He tore up the notes and threw them into the fireplace, leaning against the mantle and brooding silently over the issue. He didn't look back up until the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed the hour. Had it already been that long? He looked at his watch and cursed. The meeting with the previous owner was in an hour and he hadn't even had his coffee yet.

Fifteen minutes later saw him showered, dressed, reading the paper, and sipping his coffee at the kitchen table. It was where he took all of his meals. The dining room was much too large to eat in alone, but the kitchen was small and functional and he didn't have to think too much about how lonely it was going to be when this whole thing was solved and Alfred was resting in peace and not bothering him any more.

Deciding his time was better spent doing just about anything but brooding over Alfred possibly crossing over, or whatever they called it, he got up from the kitchen table and grabbed his keys. He may have a limo and driver waiting at his beck and call, but he much preferred to drive himself around for errands like this. So he checked the address one more time and decided to show up a little bit early.

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And there you have it, finally a little bit of RusAme lovins. For anyone who might have been squicked about the lack of development of the spark between them and/or the guilt Ivan should be feeling about wanting to bang a ghost, trust me it will show up later. This is a gothic-esque story, afterall.

More development in coming chapers! =DDD


	5. Chapter 5

Here you go guys! I'm sorry I didn't update sooner. I really hope that the plot makes up for the crappy not on timeness, though I personally don't think it does.

Enjoy! 

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Ivan parked his car in front of the quaint little suburban home at the adress he'd been giving, fifteen minutes early for the rendez-vous with the previous owner of the

plantation. For all the money he'd payed the man, he'd expected something grander. But maybe the previous owner had sold the house for that exact reason. He was not

here to judge the man based on his home, but to find answers to the questions plauging him. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his car, apprehension

suddenly filling him. This was it, this was where he would possibly find out who the boy had been, what had happened to him. It made him nervous and giddy and excited

and scared all at the same time. Suddenly he wasn't sure if he wanted to have this meeting.

What of he didn't know anything about the boy? What if he knew for a fact that there had never been an Alfred on the plantation at all? What if he confirmed Ivan's darkest

fear, that he was going insane and the boy had never existed in the first place. He was sure that it would crush him. He'd come too far and gotten too invested to turn back.

Whoever this Alfred was, he was an integral part of Ivan's life now. He would do anything just to make sure the boy could rest easy in the next life, something that obviously

wasn't happening right now. He couldn't just leave it at this and hoped the nightmares stopped. The only thing he could do at this point would be to follow through and meet

with the man. Nothing worse could come of it than being told he was making it all up in his head.

He took a deep breath to steel himself and got out of the car, looking over the top at the house one more time. It was much smaller than the plantation house with a generic

shape generally associated with the suburbs, a white picket fence, and several cheery lawn ornaments decorating the small yard. It was a nice house, really, the picture of

the American dream. And inside lay his fate. He swallowed thickly and squashed down the jitters, letting himseld through the gate and onto the porch so he could knock on

the door.

It wasn't long before the door opened, a boy not too much older than Alfred poking his head out. In fact, he looked eerily like Alfred save for a few key differences. The boy's

eyes were a blueish violet rather than the pure sky blue Alfred's were, and his hair was long and wavy rather than short and straight. But it had made him do a double-take,

that was for sure.

"Hello, my name is Ivan Braginsky. Is Matthew Williams here?" He asked the boy, expecting him to run and get his father. Instead he merely nodded his head and opened

the door fully. "I'm Matthew Williams." He said, barely above a whisper. He was a mousy man, that was for sure. But Ivan just held out his hand to shake the boy's, not

wanting to offend him by admitting that he'd assumed he'd be much older. So far the boy had fit none of his expectations of him and while that wasn't a bad thing, it certainly

did give him questions about whether or not he would meet his most vital expectations concerning the history of the plantation.

Matthew took the hand and shook it, his grip neither too firm or too lax. You could tell alot about a man through the way he shook hands. A professor he'd had once had told

him that, and he couldn't help thinking about it now. It was a rather off the wall thought, so he disregarded it. Nonetheless, he followed Matthew into the house.

He was led into a quaint little kitchen that looked like every piece of furniture and every appliance had been picked to suit the color scheme and make it look like a room

right out of some home decoration magazine. He wondered if Matthew had done this himself or if he had a wife or girlfriend who picked out the decorations for him. He

opened his mouth to ask, but before he could the answer made itself apparent when an elegantly dressed man swept into the room and took Matthew in his arms.

"Mathieu, mon amour, I am so sorry I cannot stay for your meeting with mister...Braginsky, was it?" He asked, looking to Ivan for confirmation but looking back to the

smaller blonde in his arms before Ivan had a chance to say anything. "But I simply must run off! The interns have completely botched the cover some how and I must scurry

back to fix it." He told him, kissing him on the cheek before hurrying out. Ivan stared blankly after the man, wondering what had just happened.

"Sorry, that was my boyfriend. Francis is the editor of a fashion magazine and he's always really busy." Matthew informed him, setting a cup of coffee, some cream, and

sugar in front of him. Ivan nodded his thanks and understanding and added his usual amount of extras to his coffee, foregoing the vodka. "Anyway, you said you had

questions about the plantation?" He asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his own coffee.

"Da. To start it off, why don't you tell me how you came to own the plantation in the first place? We will go from there." He said, stirring his coffee and leveling a stare that he

often used in business situations. It told your associates that you were serious and, if you were Ivan, it had the dual effect of being rather intimidating. Matthew looked a little

nervous, but he seemed to be a rather mousey individual so that may not have meant anything.

"Well it's been in my family for generations. My great something uncle built it back when this was still French territory and overrun with natives. It was a tobacco plantation,

then it turned to cotton shortly before the Civil War." He told him, trying not to squirm under the scrutinizing gaze of the tall Russian.

"I see. And do you know much about the ancestors that lived there? Have you done any research?" He asked, steepling his fingers and amping up the intensity in his stare.

"Perhaps old family stories told to you by elderly reletives?"

A look of comprehension dawned on Matthew's face and he nodded. "You've seen the boy in your dreams, haven't you?" He asked, looking at Ivan more with curiosity now

than timidity.

"You knew about the ghost before selling the house and did not inform potential buyers?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a smart business move, but something told

him that Matthew was neither shrewd nor callous enough to do that to someone. Chances were that there was some reason he did not think to inform him beforehand that

had nothing to do with trying to sell the house. Lord knew that enough people in America were crazy enough to buy the house merely _because_ it was haunted.

"No, it's not like that!" He protested, eyes widening. It was just as Ivan had thought, the boy hadn't done it on purpose. "You see, no one outside of the family has ever

dreamed about him. And even then, it's only ever been a few of us. My Great-Aunt Prudence, My father, and Me are the only people who've seen him that I know of, though

Aunt Prudence said her grandfather used to talk about someone named Alfred that he knew when he was a child. She always said that she thought that was the boy's

name." He said, getting lost in memories of when he was a child growing up on the plantation.

"Yes, the boy's name is indeed Alfred. So, tell me what your Aunt's grandfather said about this boy." He told him, snapping Matthew back to the present like a sling-shot.

"How are you so sure that's his name?" He asked, blinking owlishly. He hadn't expected Ivan to know any more about the boy than the standard dream. "Did you figure out

what he was saying?" He asked, leaning forward like Ivan held the secrets of the universe. His whole life he had been haunted by that elusive boy, wondering what he was

saying. But he hadn't ever been able to get any closer than the edge of the field of sunflowers. He had spent countless nights standing on that hill, watching the boy shout

up to him. But every time he so much as touched a single sunflower petal the dream would spiral into blackness and he would wake up wondering what had happened.

"Yes. I got close enough to speak to him." He said, crossing hislegs and taking another sip of coffee. Matthew looked startled, like he hadn't expected anyone to ever get

close to the boy.

"But how? I wasn't ever even able to get into the sunflower field. Even Aunt Prudence never got closer than 10 feet!" He asked incredulously. How had he done it?

"I am not sure exactly why or how, but I have always been able to get fairly close to the boy. Though it was only recently that I was able to get close enough to read his

lips." He tried his best not to blush, thinking about how reading wasn't the only thing he had done to those lips. But Matthew definitely didn't need to know that. "Now, about

the boy. What do you know about him?"

"Uh...now much, actually. Aunt Prudence said that her grandfather was rather traumatized by whatever happened. He didn't like to speak of it, she said he always looked

sad when he talked about him." He told him, looking wistfully out the window, wondering if the mystery would ever be solved. Maybe they could finally let the boy rest in

peace.

"What about your Aunt's grandfather? What do you know of him?" He asked, wondering if he could check the records once more for this man's name, or perhaps ask Alfred

about him and what had happened.

"All I know is that he was the owner during the Civil War and a bit before. His name was Arthur and he lived there with his wife Monica and their son Peter. I have no clue

how Alfred was related to him or why he wouldn't talk about him. All I know is that Arthur is the first person who ever had the dreams and they plauged him constantly. Aunt

Prudence said he barely got enough sleep to keep him sane and she would often find him in the mornings sobbing and begging Alfred to forgive him.

"This is truly all you know?" He asked, pleading silently to God for Matthew to suddenly realise that he'd known all the answers all along and that Ivan's search was over and

Alfred would be able to sleep in peace. But it was not to be and Matthew nodded his head.

"That's all. I've been through all the records and talked to everyone in the family that's ever heard anything about the plantation. But no one knows anything and if it was ever

written down it's gone now." He said sadly. "Though there is an old rumor that somewhere in the library there's a secret room or something. No one's ever been able to find

it, though, and I doubt it really exists. If it's any consolation, I think that if anyone is going to find it then it's going to be you."

Ivan nodded and rose from his seat with a heavy sigh. "Thank you, Matthew. You have helped me much and as soon as I figure out this mystery, you will be the first person I

tell. Have a good day and give my best wishes to your lover." He bowed his head slightly and walked out, leaving Matthew alone with his thoughts of the mysterious boy.

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Ivan staggered home drunklenly five hours later, having gone around to the local bars. He was not really any closer to finding out who Alfred was or what had happened. He

felt like he had failed the boy completely. He had been charged with the task of saving him and he was no closer than Matthew's Aunt Prudence. And these clues, what did

they mean! A secret compartment, a ghost who came to you in your dreams, a plantation house with an opressive aura...it was like he'd been transported into some 19th

century mystery novel. There was no sense in it!

He stumbled into the library, intent on finding this mysterious room that no one had seen in well over a century. But he would find it, oh he would find it. Because he had

Alfred on his side. Beautiful, perfect Alfred who was so sad and yet so sweet. He wondered how Alfred had been in life. Had he been just as serene? No, of course not. He

had seen that wicked spark in his eyes just before he had kissed him that last time. It was obvious to him that Alfred had been high-spirited. Not easily broken or brought

down.

Then what had happened to him? Who had broken him in body, if not in spirit. Who or what could take such a beautiful thing and steal his life? And why was he coming to

Ivan, of all people, to help him? If it was out of desperation then he would have just contacted Matthew before he sold the house. Or even Prudence or Matthew's father.

There was no reason to come to him.

He stumbled along the walls of the library, banging on them at random intervals and shouting. "Come out, Alfred. I will not hurt you. Ya tebya lyublyu! Come out and show

me where you are, dorogoy. Do not hide from me!" He called, knowing somewhere in his mind that Alfred couldn't hear him. But, dammit, he needed to find that goddamned

room! "Alfreeee-"

He was cut off mid yell as he accidentally hit one of the mortar seashells along the molding. It clicked inwards and the wall Ivan was using to keep himself on his feet slid

back. He fell to the floor, bumbing his nose on the wood of the secret room. The secret room! This was what he was looking for, the room that might hold all the answers! He

sprang to his feet to get a better look, but was disappointed when he couldn't see anything in the dying light filtering through the curtains on the windows and into the room

around the corner. But he could see a candleholder in the shadows and reached into his pocket for a lighter.

He lit candle after candle, watching the room light up bit by bit. When he finally got the last two candles lit, he looked up. There was a portrait on the wall, ringed in a halo of

light from the candles. The flickering light made blue eyes dance and blonde hair shine even from the two dimensional canvas. Whoever the painted was they had captured

Alfred perfectly. He looked just as real and alive as he did in his dreams and seemed poised to climb out of the frame and into life.

Ivan reached up and ran his hand down the painted cheek of his love. Because there was no denying now that he'd fallen hard for the boy. His breath caught in his throat as

he touched cool paint. He had almost been expecting to feel warm skin, but obviously that was unrealistic. He looked around the room quickly to take stock of where

everything was before blowing out the candles and closing the secret door. He marked the shell that would open it so he would be able to find it in the morning and decided

to sleep off the alcohol. He would need to be alert if he was going to solve this mystery tomorrow.

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As I promised! I'm so sorry it took a month and a threat with a knife ;A; I really did mean to finish it sooner!


	6. Chapter 6

Last chapter, guys! I'm not going to say much, just enjoy! 

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_Ivan opened his eyes to blue sky and puffy white clouds. So Alfred wanted to talk before he went back to that room? Tht was fine with him, he would never pass up a chance to see the blonde. He might even be willing to give him some answers, maybe say something other than his name for once. He laid there for a few more minutes, steeling himself. This may be the last time he got to see Alfred, so he would have to make it count._

He got up from where he lay in the grass and looked toward the hill, heart thumping in his chest. He didn't want to go, he didn't want it to end. Maybe if he stayed here long enough he would just wake up knowing nothing more than what he knew already. He would stop looking for the mystery behind Alfred's presence and just continue to visit his spirit in his dreams and his painting in the secret room.

But he knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't go through life knowing he'd come so close to solving the mystery and giving Alfred his final peace just to throw it away. Not only would it nag at him until the end of his days, but he would feel as if he failed Alfred. And he couldn't stand to see his love suffer, imprisoned eternally in the dreams of whoever occupied the house.

So he sighed sadly and began the trek towards what might be the last meeting with the boy he had come to love so much. He had only ever said a handful of words to him, but he felt the connection as strongly as if the boy had been alive and in his arms the entire time. If it would mean Alfred's happiness, Ivan would give up that love in a heartbeat.

It seemed to take forever to get to the middle of the sunflower field, almost as if Alfred didn't want the meeting to occur just yet, either. But at long last he was standing beside the blonde. No darkness clouded the edges of his vision and there was no sign of the dream ending. They merely stood together, not saying a single word. There was nothing to say. They both knew what the other was thinking. Don't go. I love you.__

Alfred looked troubled, his face as dark as a storm cloud. He was making a decision that he didn't want to make, that was for certain. But suddenly he seemed to come to his conclusion and he turned to Ivan with a sad smile, leaning up to peck him on the lips. Before Ivan could return the kiss the scene changed and he was standing alone in the library. He looked around for the blonde ghost, but he was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, a blonde man burst into the room in a fury. Heavy boots tapped out a rhythm on the carpeted wooden floors and green eyes held a fury that all but the bravest would run from. He strode across the library, passing through Ivan as if he were air. Ivan turned to look after him as he made a beeline towards the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

What he saw there shocked him. Alfred himself, as he had been when he was alive, was lounging in one of the chairs, reading a book. Above the mantlepiece was the portrait from the secret room. It couldn't have been painted more than a few months ago, the likeness was so similar to the actual person. His breath caught as he realized that Alfred was showing him what had happened.  
_  
"Alfred! Get up off of your ass and get packed. You are going to West Point and that is that. Maybe the army will be able to fix your little "problem"." The older blonde hissed, grabbing Alfred by the back of his shirt and hauling him up. The book fell to the floor, pages bending and spine stretching as it was flung wide._

"I told you I'm not going! You can go fuck yourself for all I care, there is nothing wrong with me, dad!" Alfred growled, trying to struggle out of his father's hold. But the older man had a tight grip on him and wouldn't let go. No matter how hard his son struggled, the elder man held firm.

"Nothing wrong? You're a goddamn sodomite!" He growled, pushing his son to the ground and aiming a swift kick to his midsection. Alfred groaned in pain and doubled up, clutching the wounded area. Ivan saw red and tried to take a swing at the older man. But his fist passed through his head as if through a cloud of smoke. "Don't think I didn't see you making eyes at that stableboy." The elder blonde growled, another swift kick being aimed at Alfred's vulnerable back. He heard a sharp cry of pain as the blow hit home.

"If you think I'm a sinner, which layer of Hell are you going to for beating your son?" Alfred taunted, eyes glinting dangerously. No! _Ivan thought, _Don't egg him on, he will kill you! _But Alfred didn't listen, wouldn't listen. And his father's rage was reaching a boiling point._

"You're no son of mine. You're a disgrace, a monstrosity. You aren't worthy of even one moment of my concern you filthy, wretched, faggot." Alfred's father punctuated each statement with another blow, raining them down like hellfire on Ivan's beloved Alfred. And there was nothing he could do. How does one stop events that happened so long ago? Ivan's heart ached to watch it, but there was nothing else to do.

Alfred merely laughed, hauling himself partially off the floor. He could barely lift himself on his shaking arms and there was blood dripping out from between his lips, but still he laughed. "And you're no father of mine, Arthur_." He spat, the blood pouring from his mouth spattering Arthur's boots. Arthur flew into a rage and kicked him again, sending him sprawling onto his back. Alfred choked out a groan, the blood pooling in the back of his throat. He made weak gargling sounds, trying to get up. But it was all in vain as Arthur continued his assault until Alfred lay bloody, broken, and eerily still._

Arthur seemed to come to, realizing what he had done. A look of pure horror crossed his features as he swiftly knelt down to check his son's pulse. Ivan had to conclude that Alfred was dead when Arthur let out a choked sob, gathering the broken body to him. "O-oh god. Alfred...what have I done?" He whispered, voice raspy and disbelieving.

He looked around at the blood on the carpet and his boots and cursed. He lay the body back down and began moving the furniture until it was cleared from the rug. He rolled Alfred's body up in it and dragged it out of the library. Ivan followed, eyes hollow and heart broken. How could Arthur have done that to his own son, and all because he was gay? It was such senseless violence, especially from a man who seemed to actually care that his son was dead.

As they rounded the last corner before the back door, they ran into a woman Ivan could only assume was Alfred's mother. She stared, horrified, at the patch of red staining through the carpet wrapped around the body. Arthur looked at her, looking lost and broken. "Monica...Monica I didn't mean to. I-I lost control. I killed our son." He sobbed.  
_  
Monica took her husband into her arms, petting his hair. She seemed shell-shocked, not really comprehending what had happened. "Shh, Arthur, darling, it's alright. We'll tell them he went away to fight in the war. We'll say he ran off in the middle of the night and we have no idea where he is. Then a few months from now we will tell everyone he died in battle and never speak of him again." She said all of this in a dead voice, obviously choosing not to process the fact that it was her son in that carpet. "Go, go and bury him beneath the oak out back. We'll plant flowers over it tomorrow so the overturned earth doesn't arouse suspicion. Go!" She ordered, pushing her husband in the direction of the back yard. Arthur took up his burden once more and dragged it outside._

Just as Arthur's shovel struck dirt, the dream faded to black

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Ivan woke with a start, panting harshly and covered with a sheen of sweat. Tear tracks stained his cheeks and his heart was still painfully clenched from witnessing his love's murder. But he knew beyond a doubt now what he had to do to put Alfred to rest. He jumped out of bed and raced around back to the tool shed, kicking down the locked door for want of a key and grabbing the rusty, dirty shovel from inside.

It was storming, the rain coming down in buckets. He was drenched within moments of stepping outside and it showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. It made the trek up the hill to the giant oak tree slippery and treacherous. He slid down more than once, mud staining the front of his sleep clothes. But he didn't care, he continued on with a sense of purpose as strong as any religious leader.

Thunder crashed overhead and lightening lit up the sky as he struck down into the earth with the shovel, digging frantically. He worked for what seemed like hours to clear away the muddy earth from the grave. As he got deeper and his muscled grew tired he still did not slow, clearing the dirt away at an almost inhuman pace in his desperation to get to Alfred.

Soon enough he struck something solid and he fell to his knees, scooping away the dirt with his hands. There, under his knees, was the carpet that held the long decayed body of the man he loved so dearly. He let out a painful sob, clearing away the rest of the dirt and hauling the carpet out of the grave. He refused t open it, afraid of what he would find inside. But he took the threadbare dirty rug and dragged it down the hill.

Not far from the hill was the family graveyard, Alfred's true and rightful resting place. Ivan was wheezing and hot despite the pouring rain by the time he reached the cemetery, and he wasn't sure if he could dig the grave. But he picked up the shovel resolutely and struck into the grave plot with Alfred's name on it. It was obviously empty, as the real Alfred had been buried 200 paces away. So when he found no casket in the grave he was not surprised. His family had probably bought it for show, to "honor" their son that had "died in war". The thought made him sick.

He climbed out of the grave and picked up the carpet in two arms, laying it reverently in the earth. He would not show such disrespect to the boy who had once been so beautiful and full of life by merely shoving him in. As he clambered out of the grave and shoveled the first clods of mud onto the body, the rain began to slacken off. By the time the last shovelful was patted down, it had stopped completely. The clouds dissipated and the stars twinkled down at Ivan brightly. Ivan smiled up at the clear night sky, heart light. He knew, in that moment, that Alfred would find peace.

But not before saying goodbye.

He flickered into sight right in front of Ivan, startling him. But Alfred merely laughed, the sound distant and echoing. He crossed the grass between them with weightless steps that made no sound and left no impression in the grass. Ivan smiled down at him, holding out his hand. Alfred took it and Ivan could feel the warmth and love radiating from the spirit. He was happy now, at peace. He leaned up and kissed Ivan tenderly on the lips, fading out of existence as they locked lips.

Ivan opened his eyes to find himself all alone, soaked to the bone and with the dawn just peaking over the horizon.

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It had been three months since the incident, and anyone who had been to the house before would have noticed the drastic change in the atmosphere. Light streamed generously into the house and warmed the rooms during the daytime. Children from the town and nearby farms came to play in the sunflower fields and the lake. Ivan enjoyed having the children over and their parents certainly didn't mind getting some time to themselves.

Yes, it was a happier place now that Alfred had been laid to rest. So much so that Ivan had decided to move his sister in with him last week. She had stepped out of the limo cold and distant, speaking only to assure her brother how much she loved him. But the last week had seen a change in her. It was not immediate or obvious to any but him, but it was there.

She was sitting out on the porch swing now, watching with impassive eyes as the children ran around the yard. She didn't even look over when a car pulled up in the driveway, Toris stepping out. He had been coming to the plantation every day since Natalia had arrived, hoping the change in atmosphere would bring back the feelings they once had for each other. But until today she had not even looked his way. He approached her nonetheless, shaking in his nervousness. He flashed her a weak smile and sat down beside her, not saying anything.

He was about to remark on the weather when a small boy ran up to him and whispered in his ear. "If you wanna get a girl to like you, you gotta give her flowers, stupid." He hissed before pushing a small bouquet of daisies into Toris' hand. Natalia turned her head, looking over at the pair. It was the first time she'd even looked at him since coming to America. Toris blushed and smiled, holding out the flowers. "These are for you, Natasha. They're not as pretty as you are, but I doubt I could find a flower that was." He said in a rare moment of boldness.

Natalia stared apathetically at the flowers for a moment before nodding and taking them. She didn't thank him and she didn't say any more the rest of his stay, but it was good to see her interacting with others. Ivan had high hopes for her recovery.

But his own? Now that was another story. How does one come to terms with and then recover from losing someone you loved who you had never really had in the first place? But he was sure he would manage, even if he doubted he would ever find love like that again.

He stepped off of the porch and into the driveway, nearly being knocked over by a group of teenagers who had come speeding through chasing after their charges. The often came by under the guise of babysitting, but that was just an excuse to play here themselves without seeming like overgrown children. The boy who had knocked into him turned back to see if he was okay and Ivan felt his breath catch in his throat.

Blonde hair the color of ripened wheat and blue eyes as limitless as they sky with an impish spark in them met him as he stared into what seemed to be a blast from the past.

"What's wrong, man? You look like you've seen a ghost." The boy who looked so much like his Alfred said. Was Ivan imagining things, or was that a knowing glint in his eyes? Surely he was just deluding himself.

"Oh...nyet, I am fine. You just...look familiar.." He said, voice soft and distant.

"Who knows, maybe we met in another life." He said. The smirk that curled his lips was unmistakeable. This had to be more than a mere coincidence. "So, what's your name, big guy?" He asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Ivan. Ivan Braginsky. I am the owner of this place." He said, still shell shocked. The boy leaned in and for a second Ivan thought he was going to kiss him. Instead, he leaned in to whisper in Ivan's ear, eyes glittering mischievously.

"The name's Alfred."

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AND CUT! THAT'S A WRAP!

I can't believe it's over =OO This is only about the...2nd chapter fic I've ever finished.

And I projected it as being 10 chapters . see how well that worked out? Oh well, at least it's done!

Also, productivity may decrease soon, as I have a prospective part time job and just got my acceptance letter to the University of Oklahoma! Yay me =DD


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